


Never, my heart, is there enough of living

by blackkat



Series: Jon Antilles prompts [18]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Jango isavoidingme,” Jaster says, halfway between a threat and the start of a diatribe, as he slams his helmet down on the table.
Relationships: Jon Antilles/Jaster Mereel
Series: Jon Antilles prompts [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941646
Comments: 47
Kudos: 712





	Never, my heart, is there enough of living

“Jango is _avoiding_ me,” Jaster says, halfway between a threat and the start of a diatribe, as he slams his helmet down on the table.

Jon contains the urge to twitch, glancing up from his datapad. Asleep on his lap, Wolffe makes a grumpy sound, one small hand fisting in Jon's tunic, and Jon stills him with a touch, then says dryly, “It might have something to do with the fact that last time you met him you yelled at him for almost an hour.”

Jaster grimaces, rubbing a hand over his face as he leans against the table with a sigh. “He knew clones were being decommissioned,” he says, tired, “and he didn’t do anything to stop it. I love my son, but—”

But. Jon looks down at Wolffe, scowling even in his sleep, and then lets out a breath, setting the datapad aside. Carefully, gently, he detaches Wolffe from his clothes, then settles him on the couch next to Rex, rising to his feet. “I can…talk to him,” he offers, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s meant to say to someone so hellbent on killing all of the Jedi that he was willing to create a slave army to do it.

Jaster snorts softly, but he reaches out, hooks his fingers into Jon's sash, and pulls him closer. Jon shivers a little as callused fingers cup his chin, tilting his head up, and Jaster deliberately presses a thumb against one of the obvious dark bruises on Jon's throat, sending a shock of heat through him. The sound of Jon's breath catching makes Jaster smile a little, and he leans in, rests their foreheads together.

“The last transport from Kamino arrives tomorrow,” he says quietly. “Jango still hasn’t acknowledged any of the children as his.”

There's no response Jon can offer that will be anything close to enough. Jaster is back from decades in carbonite, facing down a Mandalore that’s largely embraced the erasure of their culture under the New Mandalorians, and now he’s trying to care for several million children his son created to be cannon fodder in a war that still needs to be dug out by the roots.

“Concord Dawn has room for them, and its governor is with you,” he says, which is at least true. The clans aren’t all united behind the duchess, either, especially those with non-Human members. They’ve come back at Jaster's call, and while the True Mandalorians aren’t what they once were, things are certainly more stable than before.

“And the Jedi Order as well,” Jaster says, just a little sardonic, but the curve of his mouth is amused as he wraps an arm around Jon's waist. He pulls Jon close, until their bodies are flush, and Jon's stuttered breath makes him smile. “Those companions of yours had best turn up soon, if they're truly willing to teach my grandchildren.”

“They will be,” Jon manages, but it’s hard to get the words out, hard to think enough to shape them when Jaster's hand is stroking the line of his spine, long sweeps of touch up and down. With a shiver, he curls forward into Jaster's bulk, pressing his forehead against Jaster's collarbone, and feels a kiss pressed to his hair.

“Did you know,” Jaster says lowly, “my reputation among my supercommandos has increased exponentially? They keep telling stories about how I managed to befuddle and seduce one of the Order’s greatest warriors to be my concubine.”

Jon snorts before he can help it, and Jaster chuckles, looping his arms around Jon and simply holding on. Behind them, Jon can hear young voices, a tussle that he’ll probably have to break up soon, Cody loud and indignant in the bedroom, but—

Jaster kisses his forehead, and his sigh is tired, but the edge of vibrating fury and grief Jon felt when he arrived is muted now, blunted by warmth. “Maybe,” he says quietly, “I shouldn’t be the one speaking to Jango.”

Jon makes a soft sound of denial, though he doesn’t lift his head. “He hasn’t left Concord Dawn yet,” he points out. “And he could, easily. You just…need time.”

“So he can use his own genetics to create another army of _children_?” Jaster mutters, but when Jon lightly pinches his side, he huffs, relents, and changes the subject. “The governor offered me one of the old cities, from before the wars. It’s stood empty for centuries, but the bones still seem strong.”

Jon raises his head, because that’s only part of what Jaster wanted to say. When he gives Jaster a curious look, Jaster smiles crookedly, brushing the backs of his fingers over Jon's cheek and down the line of his throat. Pauses, like he’s weighing his words, and then says, “There's a shrine to Tarre Vizsla there, like a temple. You mentioned wanting a place to collect skills that are fading out of existence among the Jedi, and to teach them. If you want it, it’s yours.”

Jon's throat feels tight, and he swallows, tightens his grip on Jaster as he tries to breathe evenly. “Jedi on a Mandalorian world?” he asks roughly. “What will your people say, Mand’alor?”

Jaster tips his chin up, feathering a kiss over his mouth that’s so light Jon can't help but shiver. “I told you,” he says, low, as his other hand slides past the edge of Jon's tunic, loosening the sash and reaching skin. “They think I seduced a legendary Jedi to my side with wiles and fabled skills in—”

“ _Ba'buir_!” a voice says, loud and insistent. Not Cody, Jon thinks with a snort. Whoever Cody was picking on, most likely. Bly, maybe. It’s usually Bly or Fox, and Fox is asleep on the couch with Rex and Wolffe.

With a faint groan, Jaster brushes another kiss across Jon's mouth, lingering and a little regretful, and then slides out from between Jon and the counter. “Yes, Bly?” he asks, and a moment later a deeply offended six-year-old is barreling out of the bedroom, slamming into Jaster's knees. Jaster yelps, reels, and Jon lunges to catch him before he can topple over.

Bly doesn’t even seem to notice. “Cody is a—”

Jaster lays a hand over his mouth. “Is your next word going to make me sad?” he asks sternly.

Bly screws up his face, which could be either repentance or defiance, with him.

Chuckling, Jon slips past Jaster, heading for the couch where Fox is just sitting up, frowning. “Jaster,” he says, and when Fox holds out his arms Jon picks him up, settles the boy on his hip. Jaster is watching him, something on his face that makes Jon's heart turn over in his chest, and he swallows, meets Jaster's dark eyes.

“Talk to Jango,” he says. “Without yelling. And—I’ll go look at the temple.”

Jaster's smile is all relief and warmth, and he pauses as he steers Bly past, leans in—

“No,” Fox says firmly, and shoves Jaster's face away before he can steal another kiss.

Jon laughs, hiding it in Fox’s red-brown hair, and Jaster sighs like he’s been martyred, but he’s smiling too.


End file.
